


Carmen Sandiego: The Parisian Connection

by CathexisArcana



Category: Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego?, Where on Earth is Carmen Sandiego?
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cock Tease, Dominance, Erotica, F/M, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, Non-Consensual Bondage, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV First Person, Rope Bondage, Small Penis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-21 23:47:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11955252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CathexisArcana/pseuds/CathexisArcana
Summary: Jason Dillane is a novice reporter, but an anonymous tip about the location of the notorious Carmen Sandiego is about to change his life. He heads to Paris for an interview, but it turns out Carmen has a few questions of her own, which she thinks are best answered under sexual duress...





	Carmen Sandiego: The Parisian Connection

My flight arrived at the Charles de Gaulle airport at 2:30 a.m. this morning, and the night air was cold. By the time I got to my hotel room in Paris, it was almost 4, and the sky had not even lightened a shade. 

 

Although I did not want to lose precious time, I slept until noon. It was a hard, jet-lagged and dreamless sleep, and I awoke slightly confused, but my mind quickly reoriented. 

 

On the weight of a lead I received from a new and mysterious contact, I had travelled as quickly as possible to to this storied capital of France, where I  believed I would find the elusive Carmen Sandiego, which others much more competent than I had tried and failed to accomplish. 

 

Using the old fashioned rotary phone on the bed stand, I ordered breakfast with coffee, then took a cold shower to freshen my senses, knowing the room outside was comfortably heated by the floorboard radiators. By the time I dressed, room service arrived. I took the stainless cart and thanked the plain-faced girl, who did not smile or ask me if I required anything else, but simply scanned the room and then left with a satisfied mien.

 

Dressed in a t-shirt and form fitting boxer-briefs, I sat in the cushioned bay window and ate my breakfast, looking down on the Seine River walkway from three stories up, idly studying the winter garbed Parisians as they went about their own chilly morning, unaware of my idle gaze. 

 

I had an hour to kill, so I stood up to get my camera, hoping to take some mundane and pleasant images to take my mind off the mission of the day. As I reached into my bag, the door rang for the second time this morning. It was a simple, unthreatening little melody. 

 

I imagined the girl had returned to bring me butter and jam, which she had forgotten the first time, which made for a rather dry croissant. I cracked the door half a foot, hiding my lower half with the door, partly out of respect for her and partly from my own modesty. 

 

Before I could react, a different woman pushed through the door so forcefully that I stumbled backward, falling against the edge of the bed, and the door shut crisply behind her.  

 

A tall, elegant woman stood before me, a Beretta pistol in her hand, pointing it at me. She wore her hair wrapped up in a white scarf beneath her chin, and large sunglasses covered her eyes. Her long fur coat let off a slight breeze of winter air which had clung to it from outside. Standing before me in heeled black leather boots, she was like some movie star from the Golden Age of Cinema come to life. 

 

“Who are you?” I asked her, chagrined at the sound of my own dumbfounded voice. Even as I asked, I knew it could only be  _ her _ . 

 

“You know very well who I am,” she confirmed haughtily, with just the hint of a Spanish accent.  “You are wondering how I found you. All of your questions will be answered in time, but for now, all you need to know is that you have ceased to be the hunter, Jason Dillane, and are now my prey.”

 

I was as at a loss for words, and in little time she had managed to threaten me into securing  my own wrists and ankles to a chair using black parachute cord she had brought inside of her jacket.  She checked and tightened my knots after I was done. 

 

Now, I was helpless before her, still wearing only my underwear and a t-shirt, feeling quite ridiculous and in no small part apprehensive. 

 

Seemingly satisfied that I was secure, Carmen divested herself of her outerwear, shaking out her wavy black hair from the scarf and removing her sunglasses to reveal piercing blue eyes. Beneath, she wore a black sweater with a steep neckline baring smooth brown cleavage, and tight black leggings over her shapely legs. I watched in an anxious stupor as she closed the curtains and tied them, then turned on the bedside lamps, shrouding the room in an ambiance of mystery.

 

Unable to stop myself, I uttered the age-old question of the helpless captive. “What are you going to do to me?” 

 

She laughed at my question, an icy melody that made the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on ends. “I will do what I need to do to get the information I want, Mr. Dillane.”

 

“But you don’t have to hold me at gunpoint and tie me up. I’ll tell you anything…”

 

She stood in front of me, hands on her hips, regarding me with cold amusement. “Men only tell the truth when they are broken and desperate. But don’t worry. I will not torture you, Jason, not in the way you think.”

 

I sighed, already weary with how much adrenaline my body had spent in the last fifteen minutes. “What do you mean?”

 

“I see you how a gemcutter sees a diamond, where the fractures run through it. I know where to hit you to make you break _ exactly  _ how I want you to break.”

 

I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I closed my eyes, took a deep, steadying breath to gather my thoughts. “Look, I’m just a journalist, I promise. You can look up my work online. I’m not interpol or whoever might be after you at this point.”

 

She scoffed at the idea, arching her fine, black brow. “What mere journalist would have access to the kind of informant who knows where I am?” She looked mockingly at my crotch, sneering. “You aren’t a big name, Dillane. Why would anyone behind the curtain of national affairs give someone like you my location?”

 

I felt myself flushing red. “I don’t know...they contacted me. I’ve never used them before. I know nothing about them.”

 

“Perhaps, perhaps not. That is what I am here to determine.” 

 

Carmen laid her gun down on the cart, and then pulled a small tactical-looking knife from her waistband, flipping it over her fingers with deft little movements. Before I could protest, she pulled the front of my shirt taught and cut it completely in two in one quick motion, then threw the flaps open. I looked down, surprised not to see a razor-thin cut down my chest, but she had been precise. 

 

Distantly, I was chagrined that my stomach was not exactly flat  in this position, but I was mostly alarmed by her wielding the knife. 

 

“You have the physique of a journalist,” Carmen observed wryly. “Point one for your defense.” 

 

“How much of me will there be left before you believe me?” I murmured. 

 

She smirked. “How barbarous do you think I am?” 

 

To my horror, she knelt in front of my lap, one black-gloved  hand on my left wrist, her other hand wielding the knife. I opened my mouth, but her blade was at my throat in an instant. 

 

“If you scream, this will go far worse for you than I had ever planned,” Carmen said in a low, dangerous tone, and I believed her. 

 

My breath came quickly and erratically, trying to stifle my scream inside my chest, as she rather skilfully cut each leg of my boxer-briefs down the middle, leaving a center flap of material  just laying on my crotch, free from the rest of the article. 

 

At this point, I was still too afraid of how far she would go for me to be aroused, but there was a distant part of my mind that was foolish enough to hope for some ridiculous fantasy scenario to play out. But the realist in me knew that this was going to go downhill rather quickly. 

 

I was relieved when she sheathed the little knife and threw it on the bed, evidently done with it for the mean time. Already I could feel the tension in my body ebbing slightly, but not entirely. Now, Carmen took the flap of fabric maintaining my modesty and slowly pulled it away, revealing my genitals. 

 

My fear and anxiety had done me no favors in that region. My penis was quite dormant, short and partially retracted in an unflattering way. At least I had groomed recently, so the hair above it was trimmed very short, and everything else was smooth. 

 

Carmen made a “tsk” sound with her tongue. “Aw, Mr. Dillane, it seems your anxiety has withered you down to the root.”

 

I didn’t answer her, but looked away, embarassed. 

 

“But there is a way to fix it,” she said with a mischievous smile. 

 

She pulled off a black glove, one finger at a time, revealing elegant fingers with red-painted nails.  This hand she placed on my thigh, and though I resented everything about this situation, I could already feel myself responding to the thrilling tingle than ran from her fingertips to some place deep within my loins. Her hand continue until her thumb rested just against my left testicle, and her fingers rested on the ticklish skin of my inner hip.

 

I squirmed at the sensation, and she laughed. 

 

“Oh, you seem to be relaxing,” she said with approval. “I can play you like an instrument…”

 

Without me realizing it, my member had started to grow, not to its full extent, yet, but thickening and hanging respectably. Carmen made a pleased noise, which made me proud in a juvenile way.  

 

She continued to caress my thigh, tracing little lines of sensation with her red nail gently over my skin, and across the fuzzy plain below my stomach, and down, tantalizingly close to the top of my shaft, but without ever touching it. Twice, she touched the smooth skin of my scrotum, just glancing contact that made the skin tighten. 

 

I was erect now, or at least as much as possible without having any other stimulus involved. 

 

Carmen nodded, hovering one finger ever so close to my lower head, which jumped a little in a reflex that I could not quite controll. “Now, that’s much better. I knew you were a grower, Mr. Dillane. “It is rather nice, you know. I cannot call it large, but it is aesthetically pleasing.”

 

“How is this supposed to make me reveal the secret information you think I have?” I demanded, ignoring her comment. 

 

“Well, it wouldn’t work on just anyone, of course,” she agreed. “There are many hardened killers that come after me who are best dispatched by an unseen bullet from far away, or with poison, or a matte-coated blade in the dark, but for you -- I believe this method will work wonders.”

 

“And what if it doesn’t?”

 

“Then you will die quite happily, I should think, unlike countless others who have rolled the dice on their lives in attempting to capture me.”

 

“I am not your enemy, I swear,” I said earnestly. “I just want an interview…”

 

Unexpectedly, she grabbed my scrotum, not quite painfully, but firmly, and began massaging it, which was highly pleasurable despite her nails, and I sighed breathlessly, unable to continue my line of thought. 

 

With fine white teeth, she pulled off her other glove, and that hand held my right side for balance as she continued to massage me. 

 

“What...the….hell...” I tried to say, but it was only a whisper. 

 

Surprisingly, I felt a familiar rising sensation that presaged an orgasm, but she seemed to sense this almost as soon as I realized it myself, and she withdrew her hands from me and stood up. 

 

I watched her pour herself a glass of water from the pitcher, and take a long sip, eyeing me dispassionately. As she drank, the weight of my circumstances and the accompanying worry began to undo her handy work, which she noticed with a keen eye.

 

Immediately, Carmen returned to me, but this time she took hold of my penis with her hand, pulling it with a firm, smooth motion, which caused me to return to a state of full erection, and soon it was larger than before, as her hand squeezed and tugged me to the point my head was bulbous and throbbing. 

 

As I was about to cum, she stopped, and patiently she waited for the blood to began receding from me, and again she brought me to erection with her hands, one of them pulling my cock and the other squeezing my balls, and before I came, her hands flew off as me as quickly as if my skin had turned red hot beneath her touch. She grinned at me, knowing exactly what she was doing.

 

I groaned and moved in my chair, out of disappointment and also of a need to relax my body, as I had been tense with anticipation for some time, and my wrists and ankles were raw from the cords. 

 

“Who sent you?” Carmen asked lightly. 

 

“He didn’t use a name, and I knew better than to ask,” I murmured, with my head lolled to one side, staring at the daylight limned blinds in the window. 

 

“What did he expect you to do?”

 

“He just said that I would owe him a favor, but he didn’t say what. I knew it was a risk, but this was too great an opportunity to pass up.” I made a short, bitter laugh. “I should have known better than to trust my luck.”

 

“A plausible story,” Carmen conceded, almost as if she might believe me, but then those ruby red lips turned up in a sneer. “But it’s too tidy,” said she. “The best lies are short and simple-- easier to remember the script, you see.”

 

Standing abruptly, she began undressing herself, smiling coyly at me as she did so, one garment at a time. Beneath her clothes she wore black, lacey lingerie, as I expected. Her body was toned but bordering on voluptuous. Her breasts were generous in portion and perfectly shaped, but natural, and her stomach was contoured and flat but without defined abs. She had a large, dark splotch of a birthmark on her hip, and her pretty toes were painted red to match her fingers. 

 

Simply put, the sight of her was breathtaking. 

 

_ And she knew it.  _

 

Foolishly, I began to hope she might make love to me, or let me touch her, or even see her fully undressed, but once more she turned her attention to my cruel arousal, except now it was far worse. Between my legs was the most stunning woman imaginable, with a wicked gleam in her eyes, her hand smoothly pumping my throbbing cock, her breasts pressed together where the lamp-cast shadows accentuated the upper curves of them to photo perfection. 

 

Helplessly, I knew she could tell how close I was already, and I knew she would deny me the completion of my pleasure. 

 

Inevitably, she stopped, and here I sat with my erection straining toward the air, with just a drop of clear liquid forming at the tip, and then running over the swollen skin like a single tear. 

 

“Give me the truth, and I will give you the ending you crave,” she promised. 

 

I sighed loudly, closing my eyes. “I don’t know, Carmen! I don’t know anything...nothing.”

 

Over the next ten minutes, she brought me to the edge three more times, and still I could tell her nothing, though I was tempted to lie, and only resisted the solution because I had a feeling that it would only worsen my situation in some unforeseen way. At last, she left me alone and sat back on the bed, rubbing her hand, which was likely tired by now. 

 

Bewildered and resentful, I still found the sight of her entrancing, and ached for her to touch me again. 

 

“You are resilient,” she said, regarding me thoughtfully. “I expected you to give in already, but here you are, though you are ready to erupt, I think. I suppose I must resort to more extreme measures.” 

 

She took her knife from the bed and drew near to me. I closed my eyes, believing she was about to begin her true and bloody interrogation, but I felt the cords at my wrists being cut free, and then my ankles. 

 

I opened my eyes, and Carmen had returned to the bed, with the knife nowhere in evidence. 

 

“Come here,” she said softly, almost tenderly. 

 

_ I obeyed. _

 

Of course I obeyed, and I walked slowly toward her, rubbing my chaffed wrists, until I stood before her as she motioned for me to do. 

 

To my surprise, she pulled me close, and leaned down to take my partially erect penis in her mouth, and her full red lips sliding over my shaft was the most delirium inducing sight I had ever beheld, and the warm wetness of her mouth was a sweet relief to the dry friction from before. I didn’t know if she would let me finish, or if some cruel trick was waiting in store for me, but I gave myself over to her as though she was indeed offering me this merciful release. 

 

I scarcely had time to become fully hard again when I knew I was cumming. The sensation seemed to expand from within my being, outward in a million points of sensation as I imagined an exploding star in the void of space. . 

 

My knees grew weak, and I could barely keep standing as I breathed in fierce, seething huffs as if actual pain was being inflicted upon me. 

 

At last, she pulled me to the side and let me fall onto the bed, and I could feel her leaning next to me as I waited for my vision to clear. 

 

“Why -- why did you do that?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. 

 

“Because I knew all along you were only a journalist, and this was simply a game I wanted to play to get to know you. You see, my dear, your contact who brought you here, was in fact  _ my _ contact." She let that sink in a moment before continuing. "You caught my eye a few months ago when you wrote that inspiring article about me for the Montauk Gazette. I just knew I had to show you my gratitude somehow.”

 

I looked at her dumbly, too bewildered and drained to be angry. 

 

Carmen laughed, and smiled beautifully, as if she had simply played a small prank on an old friend. She kissed my cheek and then patted my chest before getting up. 

 

“Get your little reporter accouterments together, Jason. I have to use the lavatory, but when I get back, I am going to give you that interview, and afterward, I think we might take turns torturing each other for the rest of the day.”

 

I watched her walk sensuously to the bathroom door, with her black, wavy hair bouncing along with the stride of her perfect posterior, and I became incredibly happy that I had followed the tip from my Parisian connection.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
